The Reasons and Seasons of Change
Thoughts about relationships that come and go, or stay.
My husband and I were talking recently about how much our friendships have shifted since 2021, when we found each other. Friendships that spanned years and many fond memories. Some that were newer, that I had hoped would last longer.
Sometimes remembering them brings a moment of quiet grief. Sometimes a little relief. Sometimes both at the same time.
What really moves my heart are the ones who stayed. The ones who watched us find each other and embraced who we were becoming. The ones who weren’t threatened by it, but celebrated it. The ones who genuinely light up from the inside when they see him, see me, see us — and the feeling is entirely mutual.
When I moved to Chicago in late 2019, I knew a handful of people here through work over the years. A small group of them quickly became my core, my COVID social bubble, my people.
What I came to understand, a little slowly and a little painfully, was that much of what held us together was a particular kind of ease — the kind that comes with a glass of wine in hand and nowhere to be. The connection was real, but it was thin. When I started pulling away, moving deeper into my own healing while also becoming more intentional about where my energy went, I noticed the texture of those friendships shifting. Without that familiar scaffolding, there wasn’t always much underneath.
Gaining more independence after COVID, I started going more places, doing more things, becoming more myself. The regular connections started to drop. Invitations went ignored or declined. Plans were extended and accepted, then left to fade quietly into nothing.
The moment that truly opened my eyes was when my husband coordinated a surprise birthday happy hour for me at a lovely spot downtown. It didn’t matter that it was a weeknight. What mattered was who showed up — and who didn’t. The people I had invested in for the past few years weren’t there, even with plenty of notice. They celebrated each other. They planned trips and birthday gatherings that were elaborate and loving. For me, somehow, they couldn’t find the time.
It broke my heart. And then it clarified something I had been feeling for a long time.
These were friends of a season, and the season had ended.
Friends of a season have a purpose. They bring something into our lives that we genuinely needed in that moment. For me, they helped Chicago feel like home during one of the strangest and most isolating chapters of my life. Once that was firmly in place, we each moved on in our own directions. There is no villain in that story. There’s just an honest accounting of what was, and what wasn’t.
Since then, I have become far more intentional about where I place my energy. I’ve stepped away from platforms that no longer feel generative. I’ve let contacts go quiet when the silence had already said everything. I am not interested in connection for connection’s sake. What I crave is the kind of exchange that actually feeds something in me, the balanced and healthful dynamic where both people are genuinely glad the other exists.
I trust my instincts more now. I feel into the energy of a space and the people in it, and I honor what I sense there. I don’t make a production of it. It simply registers, and I let it guide me.
To every friendship that has come and gone, shifted or grown, been short or long: I am grateful. Grateful for the reasons you arrived, and for the seasons we shared.
Take a moment to think about your own seasons of friendship. Who has stayed, and what does their staying tell you about who you are becoming? Who has quietly moved on, and what did that season give you while it lasted? The answers might surprise you.
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